


Every Day, Surprise Me Again

by im2old4thisotp



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anniversary presents, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Romantic Fluff, Stiles is an FBI agent, Stydia, all the fluffiness and some sexy, based on a Twitter picture, marriage fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-10 07:09:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11686608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/im2old4thisotp/pseuds/im2old4thisotp
Summary: While Stiles is figuring out the best first anniversary present to get Lydia, she already has his finished and waiting for him...at work.





	Every Day, Surprise Me Again

**Author's Note:**

  * For [loverofthelight24](https://archiveofourown.org/users/loverofthelight24/gifts).



> I saw a set of photos of Holland Roden, and was completely inspired to write 4 short tweets about how Lydia dressed up for Stiles. Then my friend Sydney said I should write it, and 2 hours later, VOILA! This happened.
> 
> Forgive any spelling or grammar mistakes. I didn't have this one read by anyone. Yes, this includes tenses. I know they're fucked, but this is what happens when you write and then publish right off.
> 
> As always, let me know what you thought in the comments. :)

His best thinking happened in the morning. Even though Stiles was usually coming off of a less-than-full night of sleep, his mind was always ready to fire on all cylinders, so he found his morning routine had become the perfect time to process. The soothing and calming nature of putting on his suit and tie, shaving his face, and taming his unruly brown hair gave his body the focus it needed for his mind to wander.  Usually it was a case he was working on at the office. But today, it was working through the perfect anniversary gift for Lydia. It was less than a week away, and he was starting to freak out because he hadn’t thought of the best gift yet.

_ I can’t believe it’s been a year already _ , he thinks to himself. In some ways, it was the fastest year ever. But mostly it just feels like they’ve been together their entire lives, and how can it only have been a year?

His mind drifts back to their wedding day. Lydia looked stunning, the way she always does. If he’s honest, he doesn’t really remember her wearing the dress. I mean, he’s seen pictures of them from the day, he knows that she had on this dress that looked a little like she was floating through blush-hued mist all day, the way the layers of the skirt whisked around her.  But he couldn’t tell you any more details about it, because the only thing he remembers with absolute clarity is how her face looked.

Sometimes, when he’s having the worst of days—and in the FBI, seeing the worst of humanity can give you some pretty tough-as-shit days—he’ll remember the looks of incredible peace that she wore on their wedding day. The way she looked at him as if he was the answer to all of her questions. It was still catching him off-guard, her looking at him the way he had always looked at her. Stiles falling in love with Lydia was obvious—I mean, if you take a look at Lydia Martin, you  _ know _ . But Lydia Martin falling in love with Stiles Stilinski? That was a miracle. It was parting-of-the-Red-Sea type of miraculous—something that has no logical explanation, but you just go with it because it is literally a life-saving, life-altering fact. 

He doesn’t remember her walking down the aisle—it was really hard to see through all the tears, okay?—and he thinks it was Scott who handed him the hanky that he completely soaked through in the first 2 minutes of the ceremony. But he does remember the adoration in her eyes when she vowed to love him through everything. He remembers the smile that broke across her face when his dad had pronounced them husband and wife. He remembers literally getting the breath knocked out of him when she jumped on him to kiss him, and then the breath getting knocked out of him again when she kissed him like she meant it. He remembers wrapping his arms completely around her, his hands spanning her back as he held her close. After they pulled away from the kiss, he had buried his face in her neck and breathed her in so deep.

“Stiles! You’re going to be late! What are you  _ doing _ in there?”

Lydia’s voice broke through his thoughts, and he realized that he had zoned out again and still only had half his face shaved, his tie still draped around his neck loosely. She poked her head around the bathroom door, her hair still in a turban from her shower earlier.

“Are you solving a case while you’re shaving again?”

He glances at her through the mirror, his thoughts reined in and his hands quickly finishing the shaving.

“I do my best case-solving in here, you know that.” 

Lydia stepped into the bathroom, and wrapped her arms around his waist. Her voice was muffled as she pressed her face into the space between his shoulders.

“You should really tell your boss that you just need to work from home. Improve the case-solving production rate of the FBI.” Her hands run up his shirt-covered stomach, and grab onto the bottom of his tie. She slowly moves to his front, and does the tie up while he puts on his after-shave.

He watches her face, her eyebrows slightly scrunched in concentration as she finishes the work on the tie and steps back, admiring her work.

Stiles looks in the mirror and adjusts it slightly, impressed.  “You know, you still have never told me how you learned to tie a necktie.”

Lydia shrugs her shoulders. “Woman has to keep  _ some _ secrets for herself.” Her eyes roam up and down his body hungrily, a deep breath filling and exiting her slowly.  “FBI agent apparel is boring, but it sure is sexy on you.”

Stiles steps back and puts his arm straight out, his index finger covering her lips. “Stop it. You talk dirty like that to me, and you know I can’t resist you. You already told me that I’m going to be late.”

Lydia’s lips pout slightly under his finger. He pulls it away and replaces it with his lips, pressing a quick kiss to them before heading back into their bedroom to put on his shoes.

His commute to work was thankfully short—fighting through traffic was never good for his anxiety—but when he arrived in the office he realized that in his daydreaming of Lydia he  _ still _ hadn’t thought of a good anniversary gift for her.  _ Shit _ . Hopefully his morning routine tomorrow would be more productive.

He walked up to his desk and stopped short. His desk appeared the way it always did—papers scattered everywhere, pens and FBI-branded pencil cups holding nothing but old candy wrappers—but atop one pile was a red rectangular box with a black bow on it.

_ That’s weird. _ He walks to his desk carefully, setting down his messenger bag and bending down to look at the box. There’s a folded tag on it.  _ For M.Stilinski _ appears in typed, black letters. His heart races a bit. Was this something sinister? He had been working on a case against the Russian mafia over the last 6 months—would he find body parts inside the box? He untied the bow slowly, lifting the lid with dread. Black tissue paper lined the box, and as he pulled the tissue paper back, a leather-bound book lay inside.   _ Oh, great. It’s a photo album of body parts. The Russian mafia is onto me and is sending me a warning. _

His hands shake a bit as he lifts the book out of the box. It is heavy, with thick pages.  _ Oh, god. It  _ is _ a photo album of body parts. Shit, shit, shit. _ He slowly lifts the cover, holding his breath. The inside cover is blank, giving no clues. The pages are thick and sturdy, and he grabs the second page, ready to turn it and expecting the worst, a page of mutilated hands and fingers, blood spattering the images, spelling out a warning of  _ Watch Your Step, Stilinski _ . His heartbeat races and he squints his eyes and turns the page.

He nearly drops the book entirely.

The page isn’t covered with blood. It isn’t mangled fingers or discarded body parts.

It’s a woman. 

Long, lean legs in impossibly high heels sitting on the corner of a bed, leaning down and adjusting the strap on her heel. She wears an open robe, and her skin is like cream, it’s so smooth. Her long hair covers her face, but the pose is so sexy, so suggestive without showing much of anything, it makes Stiles’ head spin. It’s one of the most beautiful things he has ever seen. It looks so...familiar. The picture is black and white, incredibly artistic, and the breath whooshes out of Stiles in a rush as he realizes…

It’s Lydia.

He flips through the book slowly, his eyes widening at every black and white page.

Lydia kneeling on a bed, garters pulled mid-thigh, staring off-camera with her hair trailed around the lace of her bra.  Lydia lying on her back, sheets covering her artfully, hair framing her face and staring into the camera. Lydia in a low-backed evening gown in sharp black and white contrast, the creamy skin an enticing sight as she poses dramatically. 

The next few pages are in startling color. Lydia leaning against a large picture window, wearing high-waisted bottoms and an open jacket with nothing underneath, teasing him. Another, her arms draped in front of her just right so her breasts gracefully swell out of the deep-v shirt in Beacon Hills High colors. The sight of the photos, one after another after another causes Stiles’ mouth to go dry, and his breathing to shallow. His pants have gotten uncomfortably tight as he turns the pages slowly, eyes drinking in every image like a man dying of thirst.

He turns to the last page, and he can’t hold back his loud, “ _ OH MY GOD _ .” He clamps his hand over his mouth as his eyes drink in the page. Lydia, lying on her stomach with her head propped up on her hands, a bare hint of lace covering her ass, her top gloriously uncovered. Her red hair stands out in sharp contrast to the white bedsheets that she is lying on, and she stares into the camera with the kohl-rimmed green eyes that he has had in his dreams for years. Her red lips are in full-pout, and he imagines himself sucking on them, imagines them trailing down his body…

“What is it, Stilinski?? Did you figure out the snitch in the Ivanov case?”

The loud voice of his supervisor, O’Neill, wrenched Stiles painfully from his thoughts. He snapped the book shut in haste, and quickly turned to face his desk to hide the awkward evidence of his thoughts. His cheeks flamed red immediately, and he felt the temperature in the room rise about 500 degrees in a heartbeat.

“Uh….no. Nope...not yet, sir.” Stiles willed his body to cooperate, his mind running a mile a minute trying to figure out how he was going to explain any of this.

O’Neill’s voice was harsh and direct. “Then why are you yelling in this office? And why are you late?  _ Again _ ?”

Stiles hears the voice of his partner, Sandra Ochoa, break in from behind him. “And what’s that red box on your desk?”

_ Oh, god. How many people heard him? _

“Um...it’s just a...it was a gift.”

“A gift?” Stiles braces himself against the harshness in O’Neill’s voice. He was a taskmaster, a man who expected efficiency and decorum in every aspect of the workplace. O’Neill put up with Stiles’ antics because he had proven to be an excellent analyst. But Stiles is pretty sure that even if he had presented the Ivanov mole’s name on a literal silver platter, there was no way he was going to get off scot-free for yelling in the office. And being late. Again.

“Yes, sir. A gift from my wife. It’s our anniversary next week, you see, and it looks like she decided to surprise me a little early with a present.” Stiles felt more than a little awkward talking to the wall instead of looking at the supervisor directly, but there was no way he could hide the details of his thoughts, and he would rather not be more embarassed than he already was, thankyouverymuch.

“Turn around and look at me when you’re talking to me, Stilinski.” Stiles braced himself for the embarrassment. What he didn’t expect was the crowd of people standing behind O’Neill. Stiles clasped his hands together in front of his crotch, trying to hide the evidence, but probably just making it more obvious, from the looks that he was getting from his co-agents. Ochoa was there, of course, with a devilish smirk on her face.  _ The dick. She totally was in on this. _ But also Hicks, Ripley, Reed, Banks and Swift. Every one of them had shit-eating grins on their faces.  _ Traitors, all of you _ , he silently chastised as he tried—and failed—to get himself together. The barely-contained glee was stretched across the faces of all his co-agents behind O’Neill. He would never live this down.

Stiles straightened his shoulders. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

O’Neill took in Stiles’ appearance and the mess behind him. “See me in my office in ten minutes. And for the love of God, Stilinski. Clean up your desk. It’s a disgrace.”  O’Neill turned and the crowd of agents parted to allow him through, only releasing their laughter at Stiles when the supervisor’s office door had shut.

“Way to go, Stilinski. Do you start every day with a hard-on, or just the days that end in y?” Ochoa playfully punched Stiles in the shoulder.

“Shut the fuck up, Ochoa. You helped Lydia with this, didn’t you?”

“Hell yes, I did. The opportunity was too good to pass up. Now let me see them.” She put her hand out expectantly, and Stiles lightly smacked it away.

“Absolutely not. This is for my eyes only.” He saw the disappointed looks of the agents behind his partner, and raised his voice for everyone to hear. “Do you hear that? You all keep your filthy mitts off my anniversary present, you perverts.”

O’Neill’s office door opened forcefully, and the other agents scattered to their desks, leaving Stiles standing in their wake.

“Stilinski! Are you yelling in my office again?”

Ochoa could barely contain her glee any longer, and she covered her mouth to stifle her laughter. Stiles gave her a withering glare.

“No, sir. No yelling here. Just...cleaning up my desk now, sir.”

“Good. You have 7 minutes.” He shut the door firmly behind him, and Stiles sighed audibly and turned to the explosion area that was his desk.

“I’m going to kill Lydia.”  
  


****************  
  


The drive home wasn’t long enough. He needed more time to compose himself. More time to figure how how he could both express appreciation for the incredible gift and also properly chastise Lydia for making him look like a complete idiot in front of his boss and all of his co-agents. Problem was, he couldn’t figure out a way to do that without knowing that she would tell him, again, that he always looked like a complete idiot in front of his boss. Which, yeah, but he didn’t need the constant reminders, okay?

He had paperwork upon paperwork to do as a result of his “lack of decorum befitting a member of the Federal Bureau of Investigations”—O’Neill’s words, not his—and he was ready to give Lydia hell about it. But also worship her as a result of it.

Because  _ damn _ . Those pictures.

He pulled into their driveway and loosened his tie. He looked himself in the mirror, and took a deep breath.

“You can do this. She’s your wife. But you are the man of this house. You can take charge. You can do it.”

With his words emboldening him, he got out of the car and went in the house.

“Lydia? I’m home!”

A faint voice called out from upstairs. “Hi! I’m up here!”

Stiles set down his messenger bag and removed his shoes, calling up to her the whole time.

“You know, Lydia, that was just really mean, what you did today. I’m trying to make a good impression at work, so I can move up to being a field agent soon, not just an analyst.” He put his badge in his bag, and started taking the steps one at a time, heading upstairs to give Lydia a piece of his mind. “I’ve been doing well on this case, and making strides, and then you give me this present that just sends me back four steps back in the wrong direct—”

Stiles rounds the corner and forgets how to speak.

The lights in the room are dimmed, and Lydia is lying on their bed, with a barely-there strip of lace across her ass and her back bare and beautiful and her hair teased and thrown over one shoulder. Her lips are bee-stung red and pouting, and her head is resting in her hands, and Stiles has  _ no idea _ what he was saying because she is looking up at him like the cat that caught the canary, and his words have been completely stolen by her.

Stiles visibly swallows, his tongue suddenly heavy as all the moisture is sucked out of his mouth at once.

“Hi, Stiles,” Lydia says coquettishly. “How was your day today?”

Stiles tries to answer. He really does. He tries to tell her how embarrassed he was, and how annoying it is for his hard-on to be laughed at by all of his friends at the office, and how he’ll never get to live this down, like, ever.

But all he manages is, “Umm...it was fine.”

Lydia slowly licks her bottom lip, moving her hands in front of her to give Stiles a hint of a view of her breasts pressed against the mattress. His breathing shallows, and Lydia’s dimples appear as she contains her grin.

“Ochoa called.”

Stiles clears his throat awkwardly. “She did?”

“Yes. She said that you may have been a little embarrassed by something at work today. I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do to help?”  At her words, she rolls slightly to her side, giving Stiles an incredible view of her stretched out on their bed, and he can’t help the groan that escapes his lips.

“God, Lydia. You just wreck me, you know that?” He scrambles to remove his shirt and pants and stretches out next to her, nuzzling his nose in his favorite spot next to her ear.

She laughs softly as she wraps her arms around him. “Did you like your present?”

He hears the shyness in her tone, and wonders how she could ever be unsure. He pulls back to look her in the eyes, propping himself up on his elbow to look down on her. His breath catches at the sight of her underneath him, her hair spread out, eyes searching his.

“Of course I did, Lydia. It was….incredible. Simply incredible. Just like you.”

A faint blush crosses her cheek as she wraps her hands around his neck and pulls him down to meet her lips.

“Happy anniversary, my love.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a boudoir photographer, so all these poses are traditional boudoir poses. But some specific ones that Holland has done that inspired this story:
> 
> The picture that makes him yell is this one (just without the cameraman, and in color): https://static.tumblr.com/6896bb49ef50146917cd19d76d4365ba/olzwayg/sI3nri767/tumblr_static_tumblr_static__640.jpg
> 
> Other pics that I describe:  
> http://cdn1-www.craveonline.com/assets/uploads/gallery/holland-roden-mandatory/8.jpg  
> https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/8b/22/5f/8b225f2f3f9f03d3b46cc49b9d41c122--holland-roden-queen.jpg  
> and http://cdn3-www.craveonline.com/assets/uploads/gallery/holland-roden-mandatory/6.jpg


End file.
